where he could give his lecture. Or teacher and pupils could hear a Scene or an Act every night,—and if they paid for their places (a reduction being made for a quantity), the particular drama they patronised would be considerably benefited by this plan.

There might be a uniform or an academic costume for these critical scholars—say Shakspearian collars, Undergraduate gown, and portable mortar-board, to fold up, and be sat upon. There might be a row reserved for them at the back of the Dress Circle, and twenty-five per cent. reduction on tickets for a series. The M.C., or Master of Critics, would take a fee for a course from each pupil. Fee to include seat at theatre, instruction, and supper afterwards.

IMPORTANT CONTRIBUTION TOWARDS THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE,—"Hallo!" being the recognised telephonic summons in use between companies and individuals of all nationalities, may be already considered as "Hallo'd by a variety of associations."

MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN.

(Condensed and Revised Version by Mr. P.'s Own Harmless Ibsenite.)

No. I.—ROSMERSHÖLM (CONCLUDED.)

ACT III.

Sitting-room at Rosmershölm. Sun shining outside in the Garden. Inside REBECCA WEST is watering a geranium with a small watering-pot. Her crochet antimacassar lies in the arm-chair. Madam HELSETH is rubbing the chairs with furniture-polish from a large bottle. Enter ROSMER, with his hat and stick in his hand. Madam HELSETH corks the bottle and goes out to the right.

Rebecca. Good morning, dear. (A moment after—crocheting.) Have you seen Rector KROLL's paper this morning? There's something about you in it.

Rosmer. Oh, indeed? (Puts down hat and stick, and takes up paper.) H'm! (Reads—then walks about the room.) KROLL has made it hot for me. (Reads some more.) Oh, this is too bad! REBECCA, they do say such nasty spiteful things! They actually call me a renegade—and I can't think why! They mustn't go on like this. All that is good in human nature will go to ruin if they're allowed to attack an excellent man like me! Only think, if I can make them see how unkind they have been!

Reb. Yes, dear, in that you have a great and glorious object to attain—and I wish you may get it!

Rosmer. Thanks. I think I shall. (Happens to look through window, and jumps.) Ah, no, I shan't—never now. I have just seen—

Reb. Not the White Horse, dear? We must really not overdo that White Horse!

Rosmer. No—the mill-race, where BEATA—(Puts on his hat—takes it off again.) I'm beginning to be haunted by—no, I don't mean the horse—by a terrible suspicion that BEATA may have been right after all! Yes, I do believe, now I come to think of it, that I must really have been in love with you from the first. Tell me your opinion.

Reb. (struggling with herself, and still crocheting.) Oh—I can't exactly say—such an odd question to ask me!

Rosmer (shakes his head). Perhaps; I have no sense of humour—no respectable Norwegian has—and I do want to know—because, you see, if I was in love with you, it was a sin, and if I once convinced myself of that—

[Wanders across the room.

Reb. (breaking out). Oh, these old ancestral prejudices! Here is your hat, and your stick, too; go and take a walk.

[ROSMER takes hat and stick, first, then goes out and takes a walk; presently Madam HELSETH appears, and tells REBECCA something. REBECCA tells her something. They whisper together. Madam H. nods, and shows in Rector KROLL, who keeps his hat in his hand, and sits on a chair.

Kroll. I merely called for the purpose of informing you that I consider you an artful and designing person, but that, on the whole, considering your birth and moral antecedents, you know—(nods at her)—it is not surprising. (REBECCA walks about, wringing her hands) Why, what is the matter? Did you really not know that you had no right to your father's name? I'd no idea you would mind my mentioning such a trifle!

Reb. (breaking out). I do mind. I am an emancipated enigma, but I retain a few little prejudices still. I don't like owning to my real age, and I do prefer to be legitimate. And, after your information—of which I was quite ignorant, as my mother, the late Mrs. GAMVIK, never once alluded to it—I feel I must confess everything. Strong-minded advanced women are like that. Here is ROSMER. (ROSMER enters with his hat and stick.) ROSMER, I want to tell you and Rector KROLL a little story. Let us sit down, dear, all three of us. (They sit down, mechanically, on chairs.) A long time ago, before the play began—(in a voice scarcely audible)—in Ibsenite dramas, all the interesting things somehow do happen before the play begins—

Rosmer. But, REBECCA, I know all this. KROLL—(looks hard at her). Perhaps I had better go?

Reb. No—I will be short—this was it. I wanted to take my share in the life of the New Era, and march onward with ROSMER. There was one dismal, insurmountable barrier—(to ROSMER, who nods gravely)—BEATA! I understood where your deliverance lay—and I acted. I drove BEATA into the mill-race ... There!

Rosmer (after a short silence). H'm! Well, KROLL—(takes up his hat)—if you're thinking of walking home, I'll go too. I'm going to be orthodox once more—after this!

Kroll (severely and impressively, to REB.). A nice sort of young woman you are! [Both go out hastily, without looking at REB.

Reb. (speaks to herself, under her breath). Now I have done it. I wonder why. (Pulls bell-rope.) Madam HELSETH, I have just had a glimpse of two rushing White Horses. Bring down my hair-trunk.

[Enter Madam H., with large hair-trunk, as Curtain falls.

ACT IV.

Late evening. REBECCA WEST stands by a lighted lamp, with a shade over it, packing sandwiches, &c., in a reticule, with a faint smile. The antimacassar is on the sofa. Enter ROSMER.

Rosmer (seeing the sandwiches, &c.). Sandwiches? Then you are going I Why, on earth,—I can't understand!

Reb. Dear, you never can. Rosmershölm is too much for me. But how did you get on with KROLL?

Rosmer. We have made it up. He has convinced me that the work of ennobling men was several sizes too large for me—so I am going to let it alone—

Reb. (with her faint smile). There I almost think, dear, that you are wise.

Rosmer (as if annoyed). What, so you don't believe in me either, REBECCA—you never did! [Sits listlessly on chair.

Reb. Not much, dear, when you are left to yourself—but I've another confession to make.

Rosmer. What, another? I really can't stand any more confessions just now!

Reb. (sitting close to him). It is only a little one. I bullied BEATA into the mill-race—because of a wild uncontrollable—